


Mon Petit

by DamnDanton



Series: Washette one-shots [2]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Blood, Hurt/Comfort, I'm sorry this is a Brandywine fic it hurt to write, Injury, Laf is in a lot of pain, Lots of French in this one, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 11:31:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8142176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DamnDanton/pseuds/DamnDanton
Summary: After the Battle of Brandywine, the injured Marquis de Lafayette is taken to Bethlehem hospital to recover. George Washington, worried for his intimate friend, goes to comfort him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I've finally gotten around to finish this one. Sorry it took so long. There's quite a bit of French in this one (see the end for translations). I'm not a native speaker, so I do apologise if anything is incorrect. Thank you!

Everything was black. He couldn't see anything. His eyes, he knew, were open but there were black spots clouding his vision. However, he could hear everything. He could hear the distressed shouts around him. He could hear people hovering over him as he was carried into the tent. He could hear the pants and groans from the other patients. He could hear the doctor yelling orders. He could hear the dull sound as he was lowered to the bed. He could hear his heart pounding.

He could feel only one thing: the agonising throbbing in his leg. How ironic, Lafayette thought, that he hadn't noticed anything at all when he was actually shot, but now he was half tempted to demand that the doctor saw the damn thing off.

'De quoi s'agit-il?' he asked hazily, his eyes drooping closed. 'J'suis où? Mon général! Où est mon... mon général? George, j'ai besoin de vous.'

'Hush, Marquis,' said the doctor. 'You'll be all right. It's all right.'

When he gently wrapped his fingers around Lafayette's wounded leg, the young general howled and closed his eyes tightly, scrunching up his pale and sweaty face. 'Marie, donnez-moi force pour cela!' he wailed, his refined English leaving him in the intensity of his pain. 'Aidez-moi, aidez-moi, George! Adrienne! J'ai besoin-'

'Marquis, please,' begged the doctor, his voice strained as he picked up the tools, 'I'm going to extract the bullet from your wound. Try and be quiet and please, for the love of God, be still. His Excellency gave me strict instructions to take the utmost care of you, and heaven knows what he'll say if I accidentally kill you.' He ripped open the leg of Lafayette's trousers.

Lafayette struggled to make sense of the English words but couldn't. He was hyperventilating, clutching helplessly at the bedsheets, his knuckles white. He lolled his head to one side and searched for the comfort of the cool linen on his hot face. 'J'suis désolé,' he whimpered, inferring that he had done wrong from the doctor's sharp tone.

The doctor didn't respond. Trying to be as careful and soft as possible, he got to work on Lafayette's bullet wound.

Lafayette cried out and held his bottom lip between his teeth like a vice. He desperately attempted to keep his lower half still, vaguely aware that the doctor was operating on him. His upper half writhed on the bed, straining against the bedsheets as he panted. He released his lip once he began to taste blood and started to babble in French, trying to distract himself from the excruciating pain. 'Putain de merde! J'suis très désolé, mon général. Nous avons perdu la bataille à cause de moi. J'ai honte, j'suis désolé. Adrienne, mes filles, Henriette, Anastasie, mes chéries! George, j'ai besoin de vous,' he repeated, tears streaming down his face. 'J'ai besoin de vos mains pour tenir les miens. Merde, merde, merde! Je vais mourir, mon général, Adrienne, mes enfants, et je dois dire «adieu». Je veux que vous soyez avec moi maintenant. J'ai besoin-' He stopped to gasp as he felt coolness cover his exposed flesh. 'Quoi?' he asked, opening his eyes slightly and tilting his head up.

'The bullet's out, Marquis,' the doctor replied with a warm smile. 'Everything is going to be fine. I dare say you'll recover soon.'

Lafayette collapsed back onto the pillow and exhaled. He chuckled once and closed his eyes. Everything was going to be all right. He was not going to die. He would live to see his Adrienne and girls again. He was going to see George Washington again...

'You should rest, Marquis,' advised the doctor as he stood up. 'You have this room all to yourself, on His Excellency's orders. If you need me, I shall be in the other rooms. Just call and I will be with you as soon as I can. Yes?'

Lafayette nodded weakly. 'D'accord.' He suddenly felt very tired.

The doctor quickly gathered his things and left the room. Lafayette was asleep before the flap of the tent had even closed.

*

George Washington sped up on his horse, aching to reach Bethlehem hospital as quickly as possible. He had left as soon as he heard the news. His heart had instantly dropped, fearing the worst for his young Marquis. If the boy died, he did not know if he would ever be able to forgive himself. Should have kept him back, should have kept him safe, he told himself for the umpteenth time that day. But no, he would immediately scold himself, Lafayette is not a child. He will one day be a renowned general, he is already showing the makings of a great soldier. He needs experience. You cannot always protect him. But he wanted to more than anything in that moment.

It was dusk by the time he finally reached the large tent. He called for a boy to tie up his horse and he barged his way straight inside.

The doctor looked up as soon as he heard the tent door flap open. He smiled when he saw George walk in, and quickly finished with the patient he was currently attending to. He walked over to the general and gave a salute. 'Your Excellency. What brings you to Bethlehem?' he asked, knowing full-well the answer.

The slight smirk on the doctor's face made George blush with embarrassment. He was the commander of the Continental Army! He should be able to answer a simple question like that without his cheeks burning with chagrin. 'Err, I am here to see G- the Marquis de Lafayette.' He prayed that his voice wasn't actually as wobbly as it had seemed to his own ears.

The doctor's lips twitched and he nodded once. 'Of course. He has a separate room. Follow me.'

George quickly cast his eyes around the various cots in the tent and the wounded soldiers that occupied them. He tried to offer supportive smiles and nods where he could, but the condition that some of the men were in gave him little reason to be hopeful. 'How is the Marquis?' he asked tentatively.

'He will make a full recovery. Thankfully, the bullet wound wasn't too deep, it was an easy operation. He'll be in a lot of pain for a few days, but he'll certainly live.'

George couldn't hold back the sigh of relief. The sweet boy would be all right. He wouldn't become a martyr for America so young, thank God. 'I trust that you will take care of him very well, doctor,' he said, as they approached the entrance of Lafayette's room. 'Treat him... treat him like he is my son.'

The doctor nodded and lifted the flap of the tent. 'If you'll forgive me, Your Exellency, but I've other patients to attend to.'

'Of course.' And then he entered Lafayette's room, barely registering the sound of the flap falling behind him.

The boy was still sleeping. His face was paler than George had ever seen it, and was glowing slightly due to a sheen of anxious sweat. His eyelids appeared almost transparent and the blue veins and arteries in his neck were too visible. Even his usually-cherry red lips were pale and drained. George shuddered. Lafayette was still dressed in his army uniform, his coat flung open to help him breathe. However, the right leg of his breeches had been torn so that the doctor could operate, and a white dressing with blood seeping through was wrapped around his injured leg.

George absentmindedly drifted closer to the sleeping general and knelt down. Coming to his senses, he sat back on his heels and sucked his bottom lip, unsure of what to do. He desperately wanted to wake the boy up so that he could congratulate him on his brave efforts in helping to lead an organised retreat, saving countless American lives. On the other hand, George knew that he should let Lafayette sleep. He had never looked more like a vulnerable child than in that moment, and George had never felt as persistent an urge to protect someone as he did then. He wanted to hold the Marquis in his arms and never let him go. He shook his head, ashamed at himself. He had seen hundreds of men injured in his time as Commander of the Continental Army, many dead as well. He should not feel this way about Lafayette. This was no different.

Except it was.

Thankfully, after a few minutes, Lafayette himself resolved George's dilemma. His eyelids fluttered slightly and slowly opened. He leant up on his hands and, forgetting where he was, he tried to move his leg, and whimpered when he did. He collapsed back into the bed when he remembered what had happened.

It was then that he acknowledged George. He turned his head to the side and smiled weakly. 'Bonjour, Général Washington. Qu'est-ce que je peux faire pour vous?' He lifted up a shaky hand.

George did not think twice before taking Lafayette's hand in his, squeezing it and ignoring the warm sweat. He raised one eyebrow and cocked his head in confusion.

Lafayette giggled but it sounded more like a gasp in his fatigued state. 'Je suis désolé, George. When I am tired and weak, as I am now, I cannot help but... err... revert,' he smiled at the triumph, 'to my dear français. I meant to say, what can I do for you?'

George's eyes were suddenly wet and he could not help shedding tears for the Marquis. 'I'm sorry,' he stammered, as he closed his eyes. 'I'm sorry. I was- I was so scared. So scared that I'd lose you.'

Lafayette's lower lip trembled like he to was about to cry. He squeezed George's hand to remind him that he was here and lifted their hands to George's cheek. It was an awkward stretch and Lafayette bite his lip to stop groans of pain escaping but he managed to wipe the stray tears away from George's cheeks. 'Do not cry, mon général. I promise you, I am not going anywhere until your liberty is won.' He tried to smile again, this time more successfully.

George chuckled once. 'I'll hold you to that one, Gilbert. Can I get that in writing?' he joked.

'But of course! I suppose I'll be in... inc... oh, merde, what's the word?' he asked. The way his nose scrunched up when he was concentrating was adorable.

'Incapacitated?'

'Oui!' he exclaimed. 'I'll be in bed a lot for the next few weeks, so I shall have plenty of time to write for you.'

'Please do, my Marquis,' George said, bringing their entwined hands back down into a more comfortable position for Lafayette. 'I adore your company and, if I can't have that, you must write to me as often as you can. But please, I beg you, don't strain yourself. For your sake.'

Lafayette managed to actually giggle this time. He traced his thumb over the back of George's hand and whispered, 'Well, when you ask so nicely, how can I refuse?'

George had to suppress a shudder.

Lafayette was the picture of innocence. Pale and beautiful, eyes wide, lips quivering. His cheeks had regained some colour but he still had an aura of death around him that George couldn't stop focussing on.

'I thought you were going to die,' George croaked, his large hand cupping Lafayette's cheek. 'I thought I was going to lose you. And it would have been all my fault-'

'Non!' Lafayette interrupted, snapping his body up before whimpering in pain, but not moving. 'No, it would not have been your fault. This,' he pointed down at the dressing on his leg, 'is not your fault. It is mine.'

'No, no.'

'Yes!' Lafayette slowly leant back down and closed his eyes tight. 'Yes,' he said, his voice little more than a rasp. 'Tout est de ma faute. I should not have been so rash. I lost you the battle, I lost us so many men-'

'No!' George's voice was now so authoritarian that Lafayette felt compelled to look at him. 'No,' he repeated, much calmer this time. He resumed stroking Lafayette's cold cheek. 'You saved us. So many more would have been lost if you had not helped in our retreat. It could have been carnage but it was not, thanks to you. Sullivan told me himself that your assistance was invaluable. So many men owe their lives to you today, Gilbert, and some have not shied from telling me that.'

Lafayette's eyes glazed over and he tried to blink away the tears, to no avail. 'Do you mean that?' he asked, his voice trembling.

George nodded. He cupped Lafayette's face with his hands again and wiped his wet cheeks dry. 'I promise.'

Lafayette's lips quivered as he smiled. 'I am glad to have served you well, mon général.'

'My Lafayette,' whispered George. There was nobody else in the room, but George felt a need to make this even more private. He leant down and pressed a light kiss to Lafayette's forehead. 'I will stay with you as long as I can but, please, forgive me, I have quite a lot of business to attend to.'

Lafayette nodded. 'Bien sûr, I understand. Thank you for coming to see me, George. You can always make me feel better.' His voice dropped and he stared deep into George's eyes as he said, 'Je t'aime.'

George gasped but could not stop himself from smiling. He blushed but could not stop looking at Lafayette's hopeful and slightly fearful face. 'I love you too,' he replied in little more than a rasp, so overcome with emotion as he was.

Lafayette beamed and relaxed back into his cot, closing his eyes and giggling with relief. George could not help but beam too, nor could he restrain himself from leaning down to give Lafayette another kiss, this time on the lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:
> 
> De quoi s'agit-il? J'suis où? Mon général! Où est mon... mon général? George, j'ai besoin de vous.- What's happening? Where am I? My general! Where is my... my general? George, I need you.  
> Marie, donnez-moi force pour cela! Aidez-moi, aidez-moi, George! Adrienne! J'ai besoin- Mary, give me the strength for this! Help me, help me, George! Adrienne! I need-  
> J'suis désolé- I'm sorry  
> Putain de merde! J'suis très désolé, mon général. Nous avons perdu la bataille à cause de moi. J'ai honte, j'suis désolé. Adrienne, mes filles, Henriette, Anastasie, mes chéries! George, j'ai besoin de vous. J'ai besoin de vos mains pour tenir les miens. Merde, merde, merde! Je vais mourir, mon général, Adrienne, mes enfants, et je dois dire «adieu». Je veux que vous soyez avec moi maintenant. J'ai besoin- Quoi?- Holy fucking shit! I'm so sorry, my general. We've lost the battle because of me. I'm ashamed, I'm sorry. Adrienne, my girls, Henriette, Anastasie, my darlings! George, I need you. I need you to hold my hand. Shit, shit, shit! I'm going to die, my general, Adrienne, my children, and I need to say "Goodbye". I wish that you were with me now. I need- What?  
> D'accord- All right  
> Bonjour, Général Washington. Qu'est-ce que je peux faire pour vous?- Hello, General Washington. What can I do for you?  
> Oui!- Yes!  
> Tout est de ma faute- It's all my fault  
> Je t'aime- I love you


End file.
